The House on the Hill
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story # 29 Spock and Lauren may be living together with their new son, but not as husband and wife. And there is little harmony as Spock's rebellious daughter T'Beth approaches her 18th birthday.
1. Chapter 1

Spock stood on the balcony outside his study and watched evening descend over San Francisco. He sometimes came here to think. The multi-level house was more than a century old and situated high on the side of a hill. On fog-free nights it offered an excellent view of the city lights. In the daytime he could look down upon the neatly terraced gardens tended weekly by their old groundskeeper, Yoshi Sakata. All things considered, it was a pleasant place to live.

Spock's sensitive ears picked out the sudden cries of his infant son in the first floor nursery. A short time later the cries abruptly ceased. No doubt Lauren had left her laboratory and put him to breast. She was an attentive mother, and had only recently extended her leave from Starfleet in order to conduct her personal research at home, close to Simon.

Thinking of his estranged wife so near stirred the old ache of loneliness. In some ways this arrangement they had worked out last June was even more difficult for him than when they lived completely apart. There were nights when he lay in his second floor bedroom—the floor he shared with his daughter T'Beth—uncomfortably aware that Lauren was sleeping downstairs in the nursery.

Pushing his hands deeper into his coat pockets, he leaned against the balcony railing and thought about the ugly incident that ended their brief marriage. As he was recovering from pon farr, Lauren had tried to step out of their shipboard cabin—that was all. But his territorial instinct had been aroused and he saw her as his possession. She belonged to him, so he had exerted his right of ownership by teaching her a hurtful, humiliating lesson. Remembering that hour, he wondered how it was that he dared show himself in her presence, let alone share the same house. Was it an unconscionable display of arrogance? Or was it a natural drive instilled in Vulcans to draw them back to their mates after pon farr, thus ensuring the survival of a savage species?

Yes—despite outward appearances he was, in his innermost being, nothing more than a raging Vulcan savage, every effort at control hampered by his human half. He had proven that weakness most graphically to Lauren, to himself, and to young Reesa Weller on Mega Morbidus.

A tapping at his study door roused him. Spock left the damp cold of the balcony and went inside, closing the French doors behind him. Draping his coat over a chair, he summoned his visitor to enter.

Lauren came in holding Simon in her arms. Their son was now three and a half months old, and had begun to interact socially.

"Spock, watch this," Lauren said, her blue eyes sparking with excitement. Gazing lovingly at Simon, she spoke the foolish sort of babble that humans referred to as "baby talk". Little Simon wiggled and cooed back at her.

"Here." Lauren held out the baby to Spock. "You try."

Spock's eyebrow climbed. By now he had grown quite comfortable holding his son, but he had no intention of embarrassing himself by speaking a bunch of nonsense. Taking the baby into his arms, he quietly studied Simon's face. The baby grew very still and stared up at him in wonder.

"He always does that with you," Lauren said. "Just like T'Beth's kitten."

Spock gently stroked Simon's head. The baby had almost entirely lost the dark fluff he was born with; it was fast giving way to an equally dark cap of hair that showed signs of acquiring Lauren's natural wave. Spock asked her, "Are you disappointed that he is not blond like you had hoped?"

"Are you kidding? With that dark hair and those mysterious blue eyes, he's going to be a knockout." Seeing Spock's puzzlement, she explained, "Very attractive to the opposite sex."

Uncomfortable with the sexual reference, Spock addressed his son in plain Standard so the boy could learn to speak properly. "I am glad you inherited your mother's eye pigmentation. Genetically, the chance was improbable. Would you like me to quote the exact odds?"

Lauren laughed. "What are you trying to do—turn him into a scientist already?"

Spock glanced up at Lauren and caught sight of T'Beth standing beyond her in the open doorway. _It would not hurt,_ he thought, _to have at least one of my offspring make something of their abilities._ Aloud, he said, "T'Beth. There is a matter I need to discuss with you."

"I'll be in my room," she said sullenly, and left. There was the sound of a door banging.

Lauren's eyebrows drew together with concern. "School has barely started. Problems already?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Spock handed over the baby, brushing against Lauren in the process. The fingers of her right hand lingered on his sleeve.

"You didn't come downstairs to eat," she reproached him.

Spock looked aside. Dining was, for him, the single most awkward part of their living arrangement. From the first, Lauren had rejected his suggestion of buying a food replicator. She preferred to prepare the meals herself, using her own ingredients, but he did not feel that it was proper for her to serve him in that way. Most often he stayed over and ate at the Starbase, or picked up some takeout food for himself on the way home.

"You know," Lauren said, "one of these days I'm going to stop fixing you anything, and you'll come home hungry and find the cupboard bare."

"Well," Spock wryly remarked, "as you would say, 'that would serve me right'."

She shook her head, exasperated, but still smiling.

Not for the first time, he wondered at her good-natured attitude. How could she even tolerate his company? Only a year ago she had despised him. He had to guard his behavior carefully, for their bond was still intact. At moments like this he could easily forget his resolution to end their marriage permanently.

Tightening down on his emotions, he said, "Perhaps I will eat something later. First I must see to T'Beth."

oooo

T'Beth flung open her bedroom window and hung out, letting the crisp night air soothe the angry burning of her face. Seeing the attention her father lavished on Simon made her ache with jealousy. Not once in her infancy had Father ever held _her_ ; not once had he ever spoken to _her_ in that tender voice, as if she were the most important thing in his world. He was not even around when she was a baby. He had never even tried to be there.

T'Beth sighed. The sound of the crickets chirping made her feel lonelier than ever. She had been so happy when Spock told her that she had a brother on the way. She had thought that at long last she would have someone who really belonged to her. What a joke. The very day Simon was born, Father made it a point to exclude her, making her wait hours to see the baby, as if she was some kind of outsider. Later, when they all came to this house to live together, the bitter irony of the situation struck hard. All those miserable years, all those excuses Spock had made for leaving her with relatives—and now here comes little Simon, and suddenly it's just fine for him to settle down and be a full time father.

That, more than anything, was what galled her. Never mind that Simon had the rounder ears and those gorgeous blue eyes, never mind how he puckered up and squalled every time she tried to hold him—the little prince had usurped the place in her father's heart that she never even had a chance to hold, and for that she would never forgive him.

T'Beth startled at a sudden rap on her door.

The door opened and she swung around, prepared. Predictably, Father kept his distance. Also predictable was the faintly disapproving expression she had come to expect from him in recent years.

"Today I was contacted by the principal of Baybridge Academy," he began. "It seems that you have assignments missing from several of your classes. When he approached you about the problem, you denied it."

"So who are you going to believe?" she asked flippantly.

His expression hardened. "T'Beth, now it not the time to be remiss in your studies. There is a great deal of competition for the university level courses. If you cannot keep up, you will be dropped from the advanced program."

"Good," she said on impulse, "That will save me the trouble of dropping out."

Father's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly. "Should I take that to mean that you do not intend to complete your education?"

A tickle of fear sidled through T'Beth's stomach. She had planned out her future some time ago, but telling him was another thing entirely. Was she really prepared to unleash the storm of opposition?

"You have a remarkable aptitude for languages," he spoke into the silence. "I have often thought that you would make an excellent linguist, like your mother."

"I'm not my mother," she said with a lift of her chin. "You know, it's funny. I can't remember you ever asking what I want to do with my life. But it's probably just as well, because you won't like it. You wouldn't like anything that I choose."

He looked as if he were hanging onto his Vulcan patience by a thread. "I see. Well, perhaps you would care to enlighten me as to your plans."

She felt like wiping her palms on her clothes, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was making her sweat. Taking a deep breath, she declared, "I'm going to join the Border Patrol."

Spock went stiff.

"School is a waste of time," she quickly said. "I'm seventeen. I could join up right now, all I need is your permission."

"You will _not_ have it," he said emphatically. "Where did you get such a notion? The Border Patrol may be a branch of Starfleet, but its mission is militaristic. As a member you would be expected to kill, if necessary—and chances are that you would also be killed. No," he went on, "you must stay in school. You must develop your mind to its full potential and make a useful career for yourself."

T'Beth felt her anger rising. "You don't think the Border Patrol is useful?"

"Of course," he was forced to admit, "the Patrol has its uses, however—"

"It's just not for me," she finished for him. "You're so sure you know what's right for me. You think I only want to join up to get out of school. You don't even want to consider that I might have some other, less selfish motive."

That shut him up for a moment. Then he asked, "Do you?"

T'Beth struggled to control her temper. _Maybe, just maybe, she could make him understand._ "I'm part Sy," she explained, "because of what the Donari did to my grandparents. Despite the treaty, that kind of thing is still going on today. I want to do something about it."

Father raised an eyebrow. "So that is it. If I ascribed to your way of thinking, I would be hunting Orions for the atrocities they inflicted on my Vulcan ancestors. T'Beth, it is illogical to feel bound by events that happened long before you were born."

"You just don't get it," she said, "do you? The Orions are no longer attacking Vulcan, but the Sy-Don conflict is _still going on._ Have you forgotten what it's like to be a slave?"

He looked as if he would rather not be reminded about their painful sojourn among the Klingons. "No. I have not forgotten. But if you are serious about helping the Sy people, there are more intelligent ways to go about it."

T'Beth stood up to him, her eyes flaming. "Well then, I guess that makes me stupid. I _knew_ you wouldn't understand. I don't care what you say or what you think. When I'm eighteen, I can do whatever I want—and I'm joining the Patrol."

Spock just looked at her. Then he said, "Do not be a fool."

Trembling with emotion, T'Beth ventured a step closer. "Do you know what? You're just like Sarek—just like your father. _You_ wanted to join Starfleet and he cut you off, didn't he? He had _your_ life all planned out, too."

Spock's eyes narrowed. "I did not join Starfleet at the expense of my education. I did not join Starfleet in order to kill."

"But I know you _have_ killed for Starfleet," she said, "plenty of times. I wonder what Sarek thinks about that?"

The room grew very still. T'Beth heard a scuffling sound as her cat squeezed through the unlatched window screen and scampered past her feet. She scooped Mosha up quickly, before she could run to Spock.

Father's gaze never left her face. "You are an insolent, willful child. If you think these dramatics of yours will distract me from the missing school assignments, you are mistaken. It is true that you can set off on your own when you are eighteen, but that is still some days off. Meanwhile, I expect you to complete the work assigned by your teachers—"

"Or what?" she broke in. "I'm already grounded. You treat me like a prisoner. I may as well be back on Vulcan."

"Would you really prefer living there?" he asked. "You are fortunate that your parole has ended. We both know that you broke it repeatedly."

"So why didn't you turn me in?" she challenged. "Maybe they'd have locked me up in a little cell again. Maybe that's what _you'd_ like to do!"

There was a look in his dark eyes that suggested he just might, if he thought it would do her any good. Quietly he said, "They would not have put you in a comfortable cell. You would have been sentenced to a period of exile in a remote area of Vulcan—most probably the Devil's Anvil. Living conditions there are extremely harsh." Taking stock of her, he added, "I did not think you capable of surviving such an ordeal." At that, he walked out, leaving the door open.

Inwardly stinging, T'Beth hugged Mosha tight. The little calico rebelled, and clawing her way out of T'Beth's grip, scrambled after Spock.

"Traitor!" T'Beth cried, and slammed the door shut.

Nursing her scratched arms, she turned and stared at the desktop holo of her mother. How could Adrianna have fallen in love with someone as rigid and controlling as Spock? But of course—and the thought brought a cruel smile to her lips—Adrianna was the one who had controlled _him._ Sex slave to a Sy-jeera, a man-eater. Mulling it over, she laughed out loud. Oh, Father always thought he was in charge, but he wasn't able to control Adrianna Lemoine—and he sure as hell wouldn't control her daughter, either.

T'Beth ran a brush through her straight dark hair. Then throwing on a jacket, she turned off her bedroom light and went to the window. She liked this roomy old house. It was so much better than the little Starfleet apartment she used to share with her father on weekends. There, he could hear her every move. Not here.

Darkness was gathering in the yard. Right below her upper story bedroom there was a slanting section of roof that covered a screened-in porch. Easing out through the window, she worked her way down the shingles and carefully lowered her legs over the edge. Her shoes settled into the lush grass by the back patio and she headed off silently into the night.

oooo

Lauren was playing her flute when the stair creaked. Turning, she saw Spock standing at the base of the steps, holding T'Beth's cat. He stared at the painting by Chagall that hung on the wall directly ahead of him. "The Expulsion From Paradise" had been a gift from Lauren's mother. A fond wish, on Elizabeth's part, that their ruined marriage would someday be restored. Lauren knew now that her mother had only pretended to dislike Spock while they were separated; she had done a marvelous job of play-acting in the hope that her negative comments would fan up any latent, lingering sparks of affection Lauren might be harboring. And it had worked.

With his eyes on the painting, Spock said, "The first time T'Beth saw this, she complained that it was ugly. I told her that not everything in life is beautiful."

Lauren studied his somber face. "I…heard her voice raised." _And yours,_ she might have added. "I don't know what was said, but it didn't sound like a very pleasant exchange."

"It was not," he confirmed.

Spock seemed deeply distracted. Still cradling the purring cat, he entered the sanctum of Lauren's living room and took a seat. It was, she realized, the first time had come in, uninvited.

"What's happened?" she asked.

Spock told her of T'Beth's plan to leave school and join the Border Patrol as soon as she turned eighteen.

"Oh, no!" Lauren exclaimed. "Those people work some of the hottest spots in the galaxy. Do they really take kids that young?"

He nodded grimly. "Recruits are taken as young as sixteen, with parental consent. There is very little demanded in the way of educational requirements. The Patrol looks to attract those too young and foolish to consider the risk to themselves."

Lauren's heart went out to him. "What are you going to do? Her birthday is almost here."

Spock's expression grew pained. "If there is an easy solution to this, I have not found it. What T'Beth said is correct. Once she reaches eighteen, I will have no legal authority over her. But if she continues to live here, she _will_ attend school."

Lauren knew T'Beth would leave rather than submit to her father's demands. She found herself thinking of Spock's Vulcan relatives. When news of T'Beth's latest escapade got back to them—as it eventually would—they would view it as an abysmal failure in parenting. Poor Spock. Vulcans were big on 'saving face'. It was for that very reason Lauren had proposed their current living arrangement. When she left Spock, he had not informed his parents about their marital problems or her pregnancy, so Simon's birth presented a real difficulty. After Spock sent his family the initial notification, Lauren had stepped in and handled the inevitable questions. Being human, she had little trouble embellishing the truth: _"Yes, I realize we should have told you about the baby coming, but you know how difficult and risky these type of pregnancies can be. We didn't want to get your hopes up—or even our own—until we had the baby in our arms."_

That part had been easy enough to manage, but Amanda's subsequent visit posed more of a challenge. Like Eve in the Garden of Eden, Lauren had handed Spock a very tempting apple. Why not just take up residence in the same house and appear as if they were living as husband and wife? Both Simon and T'Beth would benefit from having their father close at hand. There would be no need for Amanda to know anything about the sleeping arrangement upstairs. Spock's mother could simply draw her own conclusions about what was, after all, a deeply personal matter.

If Spock had any great difficulty squaring the situation with his Vulcan principles, he had not mentioned it. He had agreed on one condition—that before sharing a house, the healer T'Mira must professionally sever their bond. Lauren promised to consider the procedure, but it so happened that T'Mira was on Vulcan just then. So they had moved in anyway, and Amanda's visit went off quite well, with even T'Beth keeping a civil tongue—thanks to Lauren's secret promise of a kitten, the very one that Spock now unwittingly held.

His voice drew her back to the problem at hand. He was saying, "One thing is certain. T'Beth will not listen to me."

"Who _does_ she listen to?" Lauren asked with a weary touch of sarcasm.

For a moment they both considered. Then their eyes met suddenly, lit by an identical spark of inspiration.

oooo

T'Beth never had any trouble finding a ride. She had lost her former timidity about hitchhiking, and now regularly relied on her good looks and Sy attributes to get her anywhere she wanted to go. She never thought of it as using men. After all, they were getting something out of it, too—a little bit of a thrill, a little food for fantasy. And some of them got even more than that. What had Jim Kirk called it a few months back, when he was lecturing her? _Risking herself._

Well, maybe she enjoyed the risk. The very word conjured up excitement, like the tingling heat that spread through her when she went out prowling, never knowing exactly what—or who—she was going to find.

Tonight she directed her paunchy, disappointed ride to drop her off at Starfleet Academy's main gate. The guard on duty recognized her as Captain Spock's daughter and let her walk on through. She felt his eyes lingering on her as she headed by a circuitous route toward the cadet barracks. A single boyish-looking sentry was stationed outside on some sort of punishment duty. As she approached through the dark he suddenly threw himself into an aggressive stance, fingering some sort of weapon at his side.

"Halt!" he barked like an adolescent seal. "State your name!"

She laughed at him. "Don't wet yourself. I'm not going to hurt you."

He blushed in the light from the barracks, and she veered off. She was not in the mood for someone who turned red in the face. Her shoes grew damp as she crossed the stretch of lawn surrounding the faculty complex. There were no guards here. Unhindered, she went inside and took the lift up to the second floor. She walked past the apartment her father had vacated. Someone else lived there now. Moving to the end of the hall, she rang an entry chime. Captain Carl Wozniac answered the door. His eyes opened wide at the sight of her.

"Dammit," he swore—almost, but not quite, blushing like a cadet. "I told you not to come around."

T'Beth squeezed past him and let the door shut, enclosing them inside. Carl was commandant of the academy, and he lived alone. He was a remarkably handsome man for his age, with his pale flinty eyes and that dignified shading of gray in his dark hair. In fact, he was handsome all over, as she had discovered one boring Saturday afternoon when Spock found it necessary to leave her on her own for a couple of hours. Since then she had visited Carl regularly.

The commandant stared at her, breathing hard, and said, "Get out of here, kid."

T'Beth closed the space between them, and fully releasing her Sy energy, caressed his neck seductively. He trembled and leaned into her touch. Softly she said, "You don't mean that, Carl. You're just afraid—but it's okay, I won't tell my father. No one will ever know…"

Swallowing hard, he bent down and touched his lips to her mouth. His kiss tasted of brandy. The tantalizing scent of his cologne enveloped her—the very same kind Jim Kirk favored. Those were the things she liked best about Carl—the way he smelled and the way he actually tried to resist. But no man could resist her for long. That's why it was so much fun. She could almost see poor Carl squirming, but once she set to work on him, he wouldn't give a Vulcan fig what Spock, or Starfleet, or anyone else might do to him for playing around with the underage daughter of a faculty member.

oooo

At the end of the week Spock was summoned to Admiral Cartwright's office at Starfleet Headquarters. From behind his desk, the admiral spoke a terse greeting and motioned him into a chair.

"Captain," he said. "I haven't a great deal of time, so I'm going to get right to the point. It's about Carl Wozniak. You are surely aware that—due to ill health—he has been forced to resign."

Spock had, in fact, heard that his former neighbor and superior had suffered a mental breakdown. "Yes," he said. "Most unfortunate."

The leather of Cartwright's chair squeaked as he leaned back, studying Spock. The admiral's eyes appeared very white against the dark hue of his skin. "That leaves the academy without a commandant." His deep voice paused. "I like your work, Captain. You have a fine organizational ability and give outstanding attention to detail. Over the years you've always shown an interest in education, and your personal range of knowledge is nothing short of impressive."

The admiral paused, and Spock's slanted brow edged upward.

Cartwright eyed a computer screen where, Spock suddenly realized, his service record was on display. "I see that you failed some psyche evaluations a couple of years ago. A problem with Klingons, eh?"

Spock kept his expression impassive. "The matter has been resolved," he said levelly.

"So it seems, so it seems." Cartwright perused the information in silence. Suddenly, he swiveled his chair, meeting Spock's gaze head-on. "I want you to know that I'm considering you for the appointment. In fact, you are my first choice."

Spock straightened a bit more in his seat. He had never thought to be offered the academy. That position would be far more challenging than the one he now held, but it seemed to him that there were others better qualified and more deserving of the appointment—eminently suitable humans to head a student body that was primarily human. However, Starfleet seldom followed Spock's line of logic, and he had learned long ago that unless one grasped an opportunity at once, it was sometimes withdrawn forever.

"Admiral," he said, "I am honored that you are considering me for the post. Should you decide in my favor, I would accept the appointment."

To his surprise, Cartwright stood and extended his hand. "Then congratulations, Captain. The position is yours."


	2. Chapter 2

Lauren gasped. "Commandant of Starfleet Academy? Why, that's wonderful! When do you start?"

"Officially, Monday," Spock said. "However, I will put in some hours over the weekend familiarizing myself with the post."

Lauren gazed at him across the dinner table, just enjoying the feel of having everyone eating together for once—even T'Beth, although by the look of her she would rather have been somewhere else.

Quiet until now, the girl swallowed a mouthful of pasta and looked up from her meal with a guarded expression. "I thought Carl Wozniak was commandant. What happened to him?"

"He…fell ill," Spock replied vaguely.

"Really?" T'Beth's hazel eyes shone with unusual interest. "What's the matter with him?"

Spock stopped eating. "I am not at liberty to discuss it," he said in a tone that suggested the subject was firmly closed.

T'Beth's fork clattered to her plate. Her face darkened. "It's none of my business, is that it?"

"T'Beth," Spock began with extraordinary patience.

She erupted in sudden anger. "Don't call me that!" she shouted at him. "I'm sick of you calling me that!"

Spock stared at her as if she had gone mad.

"My name is Cristabeth!" she said heatedly. "Try looking at my birth certificate—that's what it says!" And jumping up from the table, she ran upstairs.

Lauren felt like chasing her all the way to her room and having it out once and for all. But T'Beth—or Cristabeth—or whatever else she wanted to be called, was taller than her, and a good deal stronger. Spock was the only one who could deal with the unruly girl, and sometimes it seemed to Lauren that he was much _too_ patient.

A series of loud wails pierced the silence. T'Beth had awakened Simon.

"Please allow me," Spock said, and he was down the hallway before Lauren could open her mouth. He returned carrying their sleepy-faced son in the crook of his left arm, and settled back in his chair.

T'Beth's outburst had spoiled Lauren's appetite. Pushing aside her plate, she watched Spock interact with the baby. Quieting, Simon blinked in the light and took in his surroundings. Soon he was stretching out his little hands to grasp everything within reach.

"The sound of T'Beth's voice frightened him," Spock said, gazing fondly at Simon.

It was not unlike any other look that Spock had ever given his son, but all at once Lauren's mind jogged and read something new into it—some previously unnoticed, indefinable quality—a kind of _knowing_ , a kind of certainty that went one step beyond any ordinary affinity of parent and child. "Spock. When you say something is frightening him, or he's lonely, or angry—you actually know it for a fact, don't you? I mean, you're not guessing, like I do."

He looked as if he had been caught doing something improper. "Yes…" he hesitated, "that is correct."

"Because you're a touch telepath?"

It was a moment before he spoke, and even then he did not answer her question. "I have been meaning to talk to you about Simon…but I did not know how you would receive what I have to say."

Lauren felt a stirring of fear. Was something wrong with her baby? He looked perfectly normal, cooing a little, trying to gum the sleeve of Spock's sweater. Before Spock could continue, another distressing thought occurred to her. Monday, Spock was taking on a new position at the academy. Was he going to leave her and move back on base? Did he want to make arrangements for visitation? Her mouth went dry as dust.

Looking down at Simon, Spock said, "Have you noticed how he reacts so differently when he is held by each of us?"

"Yes," Lauren managed to say.

Spock withdrew his sleeve from the baby's mouth and shifted him to a new position. Still gazing at Simon, he continued, "I have observed that he is more sensitive to his surroundings than is considered normal for a human child. It is my belief…" he glanced uncertainly at Lauren, "that he has inherited a marked degree of telepathic ability." He waited, obviously attempting to gauge her response. Failing to do so, he went on. "If I am correct, he will need early training to shut out the thoughts and emotions of those around him. I can do this myself—that is, if you are agreeable."

Lauren's heart slammed. She held her breath. "Where? Where would you do it?"

One Vulcan eyebrow rose quizzically. "Why, here, of course."

Lauren resumed breathing and her eyes welled with tears of relief.

Spock mistook her reaction for disappointment. "This is why I delayed telling you, but it must be dealt with."

Rising, she went to his side of the table and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He looked up at her, startled. "I'm _not_ unhappy," she said, hugging him harder. The solid warmth of his body set feelings in motion that were becoming harder and harder for her to contain. She was pressing her cheek against his when he drew away. And in that wrenching instant it seemed as if he would never accept her love again. She had overcome the painful memories of the past. Why couldn't he?

"Spock," she said tearfully.

Still holding Simon, he stood and walked out of the room.

oooo

It had been a long, miserable week. Cristabeth—as she now thought of herself—no longer found anything interesting in her classes at Baybridge Academy. Her mind was focused on one goal only: turning eighteen. On that day she would gain her freedom. On that day she would leave this old life behind and start doing something meaningful.

The only good thing about Baybridge was the horse stable. Riding alone on a campus trail, she patted the big gray she had chosen. Just then a fellow senior emerged from the fog and cantered toward her. Cristabeth measured him with her eyes. Something in his appearance reminded her a little of Carl Wozniac.

Poor Carl. Early in the week she had found out the truth about him from her friend Kevin Morrow, whose father was high up in the Starfleet brass. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was responsible for driving Carl over the edge. Or was that just an egotistical assumption on her part? In any case, the news had dampened her appetite for prowling. She had only sneaked out once all week.

She felt for the contraceptive bead implanted under the skin of her inner wrist, and was reassured. As much as she enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and the ultimate conquest, she realized that it must all come to an end when she enlisted. She could not stir up her fellow Patrol members during Basic, or out in Space. Except for leaves, she would have to impose the same restrictions on herself that she used here at school.

It would not be easy. Now Cristabeth wished she had studied more about Vulcan ways when she had the chance. Self-discipline, pain control, the ancient warrior techniques. Though she knew something of low Vulcan combat, it would have been useful to master the nerve pinch and its deadly companion, Tal-shaya. She tried to imagine what it would be like to actually kill someone. That was a question she had never put to her friend in the Border Patrol. They had kept in touch ever since Lelia was discharged from Starfleet Medical Center and went back to her unit. Father would probably spit Vulcan fire if he knew about it, but she had her own net code that he could never break because his mind didn't work like hers. His was so much cleaner, so much more refined—or at least that was what he would like everyone to believe. Sometimes she wondered what really went on inside that head of his.

Well, it would not be her problem much longer. A few more days and she would be rid of his constant stream of demands. Urging her horse into a gallop, she quickly covered the short distance to the stable, and dismounted. A com-packet was due in from the Enterprise today and she wanted to catch the first shuttlebus home. Of course, if she were permitted the use of a groundcar like most of her classmates, she could get home even more quickly. But no—she wasn't even allowed a driver's license yet—just because of a couple of scrapes on Vulcan that involved skimmers.

Cristabeth resented the bus every time she rode in it. Today she could feel her mood darkening all the way home. When her picture-perfect house came into view, the envy that appeared on some of her fellow students' faces only added to her annoyance. _They_ should try living there with her adorable holo-card family, and see how wonderful it really was.

Coming through the front door, she found her half-brother by himself in a play area at one end of the living room. His blue Lauren/Spock eyes followed her warily as she started past. Slowing, she taunted him in a low voice. "Simple Simon, simple Simon. Hey, you stupid little simp—what are you staring at?"

His lower lip began to quiver. His face screwed up and he let out an ear-splitting shriek.

"Crybaby!" she hissed at him. She stuck out her tongue, and heading for the stairs, took them two at a time. Her bad mood dissolved as she sat at her monitor. The packet had arrived. Leaning toward the screen eagerly, she coded it on.

oooo

Fog-muted city lights shimmered below Spock like the field of a nebula as he piloted his skimmer through the night. Even as he was settling into his new position at the academy, life at home was becoming more and more difficult. Lauren had shaken him with her recent show of physical affection. He had sensed her pain when he pulled away from her, and since then she had been very quiet.

As for T'Beth, there had been more disheartening complaints from her principal today, but even so, Spock had some small hope for her now that he had spoken of her plans to Captain Kirk. The Enterprise had been in range for real-time communication, and Jim had vowed that he would rid T'Beth of her foolish notions about the Border Patrol.

If anyone could influence T'Beth, it was Jim.

Spock settled his skimmer on its pad and went indoors. T'Beth stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, as if she knew he would be looking for her. It did not occur to Spock that she might actually be looking for him.

Without even shedding his coat, he said, "Come with me."

She stared at him, unmoving. Then her eyes began to blaze. "No—I don't think so."

Spock glanced across the room and saw Lauren watching from the doorway of her laboratory. _Very well._ He had thought to spare T'Beth the embarrassment of an audience, but if this was what she wanted… "I am becoming well acquainted with your principal," he began. "He has informed me that you are refusing to respond to your name."

"My name," she uttered very slowly and insolently, "is Cristabeth. C-R-I-S-T-A-B-E-T-H. Can you say it, Father?"

"You will not take that tone with me," he warned. "The principal also revealed that you missed your weekly appointment with the school psychologist, only to be found out horseback riding."

She nodded without a hint of remorse. "That's right. Is that all, Father? Are you finished now?"

"No, that is _not_ all. I expect an immediate change in your attitude. I expect you to cooperate with everyone in authority both here and at school. Until I see an improvement, you will be banned from the stable."

T'Beth's chest began to heave. Spock thought she was going to start weeping, but her eyes remained dry and fierce. Studying her, he sensed the ominous rumblings of a storm about to break, and he was not at all sure that he was prepared for it.

Then it came.

"Why _not?"_ she spat. "Why not take away the only thing I care about at that stinking school? All you ever do is take things away from me! All you ever do is butt in!" She moved nearer, her face a mask of raw fury. "What the _hell_ gives you the right to tell Jim Kirk my private business? What the _hell_ gives you the right to try and turn him against me?"

Spock went still as stone. An unsettling flush of anger slowly heated its way through his veins. "Enough!" he commanded. "You will be silent!"

She flatly ignored him. "You _had_ to go running to Jim! 'See what a hair-brained scheme the kid's come up with _this_ time'! You _had_ to make it sound like I'm some kind of imbecile!"

Spock fought to keep his voice below a shout. "I informed Captain Kirk of the facts, nothing more. Were your plans meant to be secret?"

"Did it ever occur to you," she argued back, "that I might want to tell him myself, in my own way?"

"If you are so proud of joining the Border Patrol," Spock countered, "why had you not told him already?"

T'Beth looked on him with contempt. "I'm sick of you and your superior attitude! I wish you were dead!"

Spock flinched. He felt the breath gusting in and out of his lungs, heard the blood roaring in his ears, and knew how tenuous a hold he had on himself.

T'Beth put her hands on her hips and taunted him. "What, aren't you going to do anything? Didn't you hear what I said? I wish you were _dead!"_

All the bitter years of defiance seemed to lash out at Spock from her hate-filled eyes. Abruptly his control snapped, and he went for her. T'Beth lunged toward the stairs and stumbled. Spock latched onto her with both hands, yanked her upright, and slammed her against the wall.

"I have had my fill of you!" he said through his teeth.

Her eyes narrowed in an uncanny reflection of his own and her voice took on a cool, mocking tone. "Why, Father, what's happened to your Vulcan discipline? Is this the way you treated Lauren? Is that why you have separate bedrooms now?"

The possibility of murder sidled through the chaos of Spock's mind, but regaining a glimmer of rationality, he rejected it. Shoving her toward the stairway, he said, "Get out of my sight!"

Uncowed, she brushed herself off and slowly made her way to her room. The door closed without a sound.

Spock became aware of Simon crying in the nursery. Untended, he was working himself into a frenzied state. Fighting to regain his own emotional and physiological control, he turned. The look of shock he found on Lauren's face was no more than he had expected. In one regard, T'Beth was right. He _had_ just graphically displayed the same sort of behavior that destroyed his marriage. Now Lauren would know why their bond must be severed.

Tears swam in Lauren's eyes as she turned and went to the nursery.

Alone, Spock crossed the living room and strode out into the concealing darkness of the back garden. He was only there but a moment when a faint scuffling sound drew his attention and someone dropped from the roof's edge, landing squarely in front of him. Once more he found himself face to face with his daughter.

She froze at the sight of him. Though it was too dark to see her eyes clearly, Spock could sense her undiminished hostility. He was relieved when she whirled suddenly and ran off. She would do what she would do. From this day on, he wanted no part of her.

oooo

Weeping quietly, Lauren stayed in the nursery for some time, tending to Simon's needs and preparing him for the night. He was hard to calm, and no wonder, but at last she rocked him to sleep. Wiping her face, she laid him in his crib and ventured upstairs for the first time since Amanda's visit.

She peeked into Spock's dimly lit room and found him lying on his bed. As she came in and locked the door, he raised his head and looked at her. He had exchanged his uniform for a Vulcan robe. The red glow of his attunement lamp flickered over the rigid planes of his face, forcefully reminding her of the day she entered their shipboard cabin to join the world of pon farr. She shook off the thought.

Spock said, "I know what you have come to tell me, and I cannot blame you after what just happened. I will take T'Beth and leave. You will not see me again."

The words tore at her. "Spock…that isn't why I'm here."

"Why then?" he asked, as if he would rather be alone with his self-recrimination.

She shook her head, uncertain. _Why then? A good question. To comfort him? To seek comfort?_ "Spock, she scares me."

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. _"I_ scare you."

"No," she denied, and to prove it she walked over and stood before him.

"You should not be here," he said, lowering his face into his hands.

"I'm your wife." Reaching out, she put her hand on his shoulder.

The muscles in his back stirred. "I am not fit to be anyone's husband. I am not fit to be a father. Just look at T'Beth." His hands fell away and he stared at them. "I came close to injuring her."

"But you didn't."

"Now she is gone—out her window. I saw her and I permitted it. I let her leave. I _wanted_ her to leave and never come back."

Lauren sat down beside him. "I know the feeling. Maybe when she _does_ leave for good she'll find out that things here aren't really so terrible. If she'd talked to me that way, I would have knocked her right through that wall."

He turned his head and gave her a deep look for the first time in months. Lauren's heart began to pound. _Why_ _had_ _she come into his bedroom? Why had she locked the door?_ Only one answer came to her, and it seemed that even Spock might be considering it.

"You have been crying," he said. Bringing his hand up, he touched her cheek and briefly combed his fingers through the fall of her golden hair. It had been a long while since they were this close, this relaxed with one another.

Lauren reached for the neck of his robe and began to unfasten it.

"No," Spock said, stopping her. "This is why I insisted on the healer. We are reacting to the attraction of our bond. T'Mira can—"

"T'Mira can go to blazes," Lauren said softly. "No one is entering my mind but you."

"Most unwise," he remarked.

"Completely illogical," she said, "but you married me anyway." And touching her palm to his, she interlaced their fingers, encouraging the sweet mental contact that was so much a part of Vulcan intimacy.

Doubt lingered in Spock's eyes, but as their thoughts and feelings began to mingle, she knew that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. With her free hand she reached out, bringing him closer. Their mouths met in a kiss that went a long way to relieving the trouble that had held them apart for so long. Then sinking down into the shadows, they made love.

oooo

Morning was drawing near. The bedroom was still, save for the slow measured sound of Lauren's breathing. Lying close beside her, Spock listened to the sweet music of her sleep. The reunion of their minds had brought a wondrous intermingling of pain and joy that sharpened their need for one another. They had come together hungrily, as if trying to relieve all the loneliness of the past year.

Lauren mumbled in her dreams, and turning, bumped her arm against his. Her eyes opened. "Oh", she sighed, as if his presence had momentarily surprised her. Then, "Did the baby wake up?"

"He has slept soundly."

"Did T'Beth ever come back?"

"No." He had stayed awake all night, listening for her.

A smooth leg wrapped around him and Lauren sleepily caressed his chest. "Don't ever leave me," she murmured. Almost the very words he had said to her in the first flush of pon farr. And in truth she had not really left him, but rather, he had driven her away.

Moving a little, he kissed her gently on the forehead. She did not stir. So complete was the miracle of her renewed trust that she had peacefully fallen asleep in his arms. If only he could trust himself so completely…

oooo

In the pale light of dawn, Cristabeth watched from behind a tree as her father's skimmer lifted from its pad and flew off. With quick, light steps she climbed the garden terraces, hoisted herself onto the patio roof, and crept back through her bedroom window. Flopping down on her bed, she stretched out, spent from a long but satisfying night of roaming the port district. With less than a week until her birthday, she had no intention of going back to school. During the day she would do as she pleased, and when Spock was due home she would take off for the night. What could he possibly do to her? He'd had his chance.

She rubbed at her upper arms, where his fingers had dug into her and left bruises. _Big deal._ She might have respected him more if he had slapped her across the room. But no—even when he was truly furious, he was too controlled for that kind of thing. To think that she had feared him for so long—as if he might actually do something besides talk her to death.

Rolling over, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

oooo

The music had been pounding for more than an hour when Lauren finally went upstairs. She thought the bedroom would be locked, but T'Beth's door swung open at her touch and she found the girl sprawled lazily on her unmade bed. At the intrusion, T'Beth jerked upright and switched off the blaring music with her remote. The sudden silence was so complete that Lauren heard T'Beth's cat kneading the rumpled bedspread with its paws.

"I don't recall inviting you in," T'Beth said coolly.

"The day you start paying the bills around here," Lauren told her, "is the day I'll start asking your permission. Why aren't you at school?"

With a scathing look, T'Beth rolled off the bed and folded her arms in front of her. "You want me out of here, don't you? You can't wait until I leave. Well, you're still legally my stepmother. Just sign my enlistment papers, that's all it will take."

"You know I won't do that."

She shrugged and reached behind her for the remote. "Then suffer."

"Oh, no you don't," Lauren said. She felt like grabbing her by the shoulders and giving her a hard shake. "Cristabeth," she began again, making a point to use the name that T'Beth preferred, "you had no right talking to your father the way you did last night. You owe him a big apology."

T'Beth's hazel eyes sparked with fresh anger. "I owe him nothing."

Lauren's temper flared. "Girl, what is the matter with you?"

T'Beth flung out her arm, pointing in the direction of her father's bedroom. " _He_ is what's the matter with me! _He_ is!"

"Bull."

T'Beth raised one eyebrow and studied her in a calculating manner that accentuated her resemblance to her father. "Why are you defending him?" she wondered aloud. Her roving gaze lit on Lauren's left hand and the wedding ring she had resumed wearing. The girl smirked. "Oh. _Now_ I get it. Or should I say… _he_ got _you?"_

Lauren felt her face flushing, as much from anger as from embarrassment. "Oh, you think you're so very clever, don't you? But someday, if you're lucky, you'll realize what a little ass you've been—and you'll come back and beg your father to forgive you."

T'Beth's prideful eyes scorned her. "I'd die first."

oooo

The call from the Baybridge attendance officer reached Spock in his office, even though he had left word with his yeoman not to trouble him with any further communications from T'Beth's school. From his desktop screen, the woman regarded him with thinly veiled annoyance.

"Captain Spock," she said in a tone she might have used on one of her wayward students, "since I last spoke to you, your daughter has accumulated two more unexcused absences. That makes four this week."

"Indeed," Spock responded indifferently. "You are doing an excellent job of monitoring attendance. Good day, Madam." He leaned over to break the connection.

"Wait!" cried the woman.

Spock's hand hovered over the control.

The woman spoke in an icy tone. "Captain Spock, you were made aware of our school's standards when you enrolled your daughter. Surely, as commandant of Starfleet Academy, you realize the importance of consistent attendance."

"Most certainly," Spock replied, "but if you will consult your records, you will see that—as of today—the student in question is no longer a minor. In the future, please direct all your concerns to her."

His hand broke the connection, then immediately switched to his yeoman. "Nichols, absolutely _no_ calls from Baybridge Academy. Have I made myself clear?"

The young man on the screen appeared chastened. "Sorry, sir. I forgot."

As the yeoman's image faded, Spock sat back in his chair and used the Vulcan mind rules to calm away the unpleasant effects of the phone call. He had not needed Baybridge to inform him that T'Beth was truant. He had been tense all day, his thoughts straying again and again to the birthday only she would be celebrating. She should rightfully have been born two months earlier, but the unique problems of her gestation had slowed development. It seemed that with T'Beth there were always problems.

 _Where was she now?_ He could not bring himself to summon up the recruiting roster that would confirm his worst fears. There was really no need to verify it. T'Beth would follow through with her plans. By the time he arrived home, she would have moved out. Most likely he would never again see her alive.

When at last the day was over, Spock crossed the city in his skimmer and went into the house. He sensed at once that Lauren and the baby were not there; a late appointment, he recalled—a pediatric checkup and some inoculations for Simon.

Alone, he stood and looked at the place where he had thrown T'Beth against the wall, then slowly walked upstairs to her bedroom. The door was ajar. Turning on the light, he glanced around and was struck by how bare the room appeared. All her personal belongings were gone, including the decorations that had lent a sense of her presence to the place. There was nothing left. Nothing, that is, but regrets.

Spock shut the door and went up the hall to his own bedroom. He opened the door and found lights already on. Stopping, he stared. The contents of his drawers had been dumped on the floor, and the closets ransacked. There was no doubt in his mind about who had done this. But why? _Hatred? Revenge?_

Coming to himself, he began to look around. Nothing seemed to be destroyed. At first glance, it did not seem that anything was missing, either. Even items of considerable value were still here, tumbled about in the aftermath of a childish tantrum.

Then a thought occurred to him, and his eyes went to the emptied closet. From high on a dim shelf, something glimmered at him. Surely, if she had found the dagger, she would not have left it behind. Stepping carefully over the mess, he moved within range of a sensor and the closet light came on.

Spock drew in a sudden breath.

The Golheni dagger was missing. In its place she had left a toy he once purchased for her in a tourist section of Vulcan. The bear's imitation fur looked worn from much handling and its glass eyes had lost some of their luster. Bringing the toy down, he held it in his hands and met its innocent stare. T'Beth had left her childhood behind—somehow she had raced through it while he was not watching, and now it could never be reclaimed.

T'Beth was gone. Cristabeth had taken her place. Sorrow welled as Spock realized he did not really know either of them.


End file.
